The Memories of Glynda Goodwitch
by Your Science Biatch
Summary: Glynda Goodwitch, Beacon's favourite combat instructor, has never showed anyone the photos of her life before becoming a professor at the academy. In fact, she'd avoided looking through them up until now—following the fall of Beacon and the loss of some of the people closest to her.


Scattered around Glynda's apartment in Vale were old photo albums spanning from her youth in Atlas to her first few years as a Huntress. She'd placed them there, hidden away, in hopes of forgetting them and the people she'd left behind, but now, cleaning through the small rooms, she couldn't avoid them any longer.

They sat piled on the edge of her bed, the eldest ones at the top with worn edges and dust still resting on their covers. Some had torn pages; others had words scribbled across their spines in messy cursive or dates written in careful print. She easily recognized the newer ones, most of them gifted to her by the other professors at Beacon and many others she'd met as time progressed. All held fond memories, painful memories. She'd hoped so long ago to put them behind her, along with her career as a Huntress for hire. Now, that seemed impossible.

Ozpin had encouraged her time and time again to look through them, to go back and see the family and friends she'd left for Vale and for her place at Beacon. She refused every time, insisting he couldn't understand. Insisting that if he were in her place, he wouldn't want to look through them, either. She was wrong, of course, and he'd been in her place before. He'd made the right choice.

Leaning back against the pillows, Glynda hesitated before reaching over to grab the first one from the pile. She checked the date, scrawled in black pen on the top left corner of the cover. It was back from her childhood in Atlas, from when she was five or six. Over twenty years ago. She paused before opening it, not knowing what she'd find in there. The eldest books had belonged to her parents and she had no clue what they held.

The first few pages were two pictures from her years at the first academy she'd attended. Two were of her alone, sitting before a blue background and prim in the school's uniform. Mandatory photos. Her hair still had the same curl, her eyes were still the same shade of green, but in both photos, she smiled.

The other mandatory photos were of all the students her age, and she quickly picked out James, standing at her right. They'd been placed in alphabetical order, and seeing as there weren't any students with a surname beginning with H, he stood beside her. None of the pictures evoked anything from her, but she remembered her time at that academy.

She remembered being reprimanded by professors and her parents after running around and causing trouble. She remembered getting her riding crop—or rather, a smaller version of it, made to fit her size at the time. She remembered getting lost in the snowy woods with her older brother, Aster.

She remembered killing a rabbit because he told her to.

A shiver ran down Glynda's spine as she set aside the memory and continued through the pages, her eyes passing over family photos and landscape shots of their country house. She had inherited the mansion after her parents' deaths and Aster's disappearance, but hadn't bothered returning there since her youth.

It was a sprawling building of white marble, built to blend into the snowy backdrop of Atlas's countryside. Its towering pillars and giant halls had always given her the impression of living in a castle, but she'd quickly learned as a child that it wasn't nearly as big as some others. One visit to a military specialist's home had made that apparent to her, and she stopped thinking of her house as a castle, stopped thinking of herself as the princess of anything.

She smiled at a picture of her favourite horse, a grey mare named Versailles. Though the mare had technically belonged to her mother, Cressida, only she could tame the young horse. The family kept her in a nearby stable, and she went to see her every day or so—it was why they'd given her a riding crop and a channel for her Semblance. Eventually, keeping the mare and the other horses they'd owned had become too much for the family, and her father had sold them all. She'd been heartbroken and hadn't spoken a word to anyone for a week. She never rode again after selling Versailles and had never gotten the horse back once their financial situation was steady once more.

There were several more pictures of herself with the mare, but she skipped over them, not wanting to think more on those times. None of the following pictures helped her feel any better.

One was of her and Aster hidden in a snow fort, her brother using his Semblance to lift snowballs high above their heads and send some towards the camera. She remembered that day well, but passed over the photo, onto one of her and James sitting shoulder to shoulder on a bench outside the academy, the building looming over their heads. They were both grinning brightly and held newly acquired certificates, gifted to them for remaining at the top of their classes. At the time, those certificates meant everything to them. A couple days later, they'd forgotten about them.

Glynda sighed and debated setting aside the photo album. She wasn't gaining anything from this. But Oz filled her mind once more, and she continued with a frown.

None of the other photos in the album evoked any prominent memories. She picked up the next one, dated back to her last years at that academy. More mandatory pictures dotted the first few pages, along with Aster's graduation photos.

Her parents had placed his final graduation photos from Atlas Academy in the album. She smiled softly at those photos, noticing how he hadn't lost his grin. They'd told him to be stern for the pictures, but he'd refused. He always refused to be serious unless he needed to be.

She wished she had that trait of his.

The third album contained photos from her first and second year at Atlas Academy before she'd left for Beacon. Pictures of her and James were more prominent than the rest, some of them looking stern in class and during training, and others of them grinning, their arms around each other, as they played around in the parks and fields near their homes.

The pictures of them together abruptly ended, replaced with newspaper clippings from her last months in Atlas. She felt the tears welling up in her eyes as she read the headlines.

 _Young Student Injured In Freak Accident Caused By A Challenge._

 _Aspiring Huntsman Gravely Wounded After Training Incident._

 _Daughter Of Established Military Family Disgraced And Sent Away._

She remembered the accident. She remembered what she'd done. She remembered leaving Atlas Academy, sent away to Beacon in order to avoid the drama and the chaos.

She remembered it following her there.

As she flipped through the rest of the pictures, she took out the more important ones.

One of her and Aster, standing tall before the gates of Beacon Academy. Him saying goodbye. Her struggling to keep a straight face. He'd been the one to take her to Vale—her parents had to stay home and calm the rumours and sort out the new financial problems that had arisen in the face of the issue.

One of James offering her his hand at a dance he wasn't supposed to attend, his hand outstretched towards her in a silent request for a dance. He had left a secure hospital in Atlas to come surprise her at the dance, and had been ashamed of the metal replacing his body. She'd assured him it would be alright.

One of her old team, Team GLSS. The four of them were sitting on the docks, Sapphire and Saffron on her right, while Lloyd sat on her left, his hand placed on top of hers. It had been her first Vytal Festival, hosted by Vale that year. Her team had competed and lost to one from Atlas—students she'd recognized and had grown up with. James had been on that team.

One of her sitting across the room from Lloyd, who held in his hands the headmaster's cane. Both appeared distant, at odds with their own emotions. The picture had been taken by Saffron, following her friend becoming the newest host for Ozpin.

She remembered Lloyd fading away.

She remembered him disappearing, replaced by her headmaster.

She barely remembered his laughter, his funny stories and his jokes.

Tears slid down her cheeks and onto the pictures. Glynda closed the last few photo albums and set them aside. She didn't want to continue through the books. The memories were too much for her, harsh and clear in her mind. She'd set them aside for a reason, but the emotions had come flooding back, and she couldn't stop them.

Her arms wrapped around a pillow, she leaned her head into the soft fabric and cried. Cried more than she'd let herself cry in a very long time. She was glad to be alone, glad nobody had the chance to see her vulnerable and weak, but she wished she had someone there with her. James, Ozpin, even Aster or her teammates from Beacon. Everything was overwhelming, and she sat there for a long while, crying over the people she'd lost and the past she'd left behind.

The photo albums sat where she'd let them, the last one untouched. When she tucked herself in for bed she kept them there—kept the memories of family and friends close to her heart.


End file.
